


Pearl is Fine

by Emerald147



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: After Rose's death, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, F/F, POV Pearl (Steven Universe), Renegade Pearl, Sad Pearl (Steven Universe)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 15:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17685977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald147/pseuds/Emerald147
Summary: Pearl had experienced loss before (she had been in a war after all), she knew what it was, she knew how to recognise the stages of grief, she knew that her way of dealing was maladaptive and dysfunctional. This loss though? This one’s stab at the centre of her, a tear at the core, a rage at a heart that’s a bit absent, mostly vacant, that goes on because it doesn’t know where else to go. And that only exists as a place to hold her emotions. But it leaves her behind. It leaves her feeling all the more numb, all the more cold, all the more alone.





	Pearl is Fine

It had been twenty-three weeks, five days, thirteen hours, and twenty-three minutes. A considerably short amount for times for a gem. Pearl didn't know why she bothered counting, it didn't matter how long it had been, it didn't matter, it wasn't going to change anything. Or maybe it would. She didn't know. But she felt like if it did it would be like the difference in red and green to someone who is red-green colourblind. Something so obvious to someone else – someone on the outside but indistinguishable to her eyes. But for her, everything was just grey. See could still see colour – that wasn't the problem. It was just that everything had a memory and those memories had shapes and colours and they overwhelmed her. Someone, Peal can't remember who – one of Greg’s friends that was certain - brought flowers. They were beautiful pink hibiscus’, and their delicate petals curled gently at the edges, their darker centres bleeding outwards until faded completely. She threw them away. The rush of sensation that clamped down on her made her whole body hot and tense, and it stole her limbs and destroyed the small soft things that made a memory cover her vision until all she could see was pink. And then all she could see was the sharp facets of a strawberry coloured gem that and the flower had swept from curled petals to a curled lock of hair. The bright dancing stars in her eyes and the gentle gradient of her dress that shifted and swung around her feet. And then all she could see was nothingness, because it was all gone. She thought she saw a glimpse of a radiant smile and a determined grin but- no. She didn't. She didn't. No one asked about the hibiscus’. The were no more flowers. 

It followed her now, everywhere she went; she could always feel the sharp prickle of its presence behind her, the cold breath that twisted around her. It was usually silent. Something out of a human child’s horror story. Hemming the edges of her vision it would prowl around her eyes. Blocking the light its massive frame sometimes clawed at her iris', making every sight far too much – every light far too bright. When this happened, she would curl up, cover her eyes, block any light, and hide on her room in the Temple. Just hide. Sometimes it would scream into her ear (though she couldn't be sure it wasn't and echo of her own) and, though she wished she had acclimated to the sound, it still makes Pearl flinch every time, and everything seems louder after. Well, not louder, she just became more aware of the smallest things, like the sound of the ocean just outside, or the harsh sound of the ocean wind. So she would cover her ears, block any sound, and hide on her room in the Temple. Just hide. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. Hiding. She never really hid before, not from anything - she was the renegade pearl, terrifying and dangerous. She guessed it was easier to hide then try to be strong. At least when she was alone it didn't matter if she had to cry for hours, or lie still for a day. Maybes he didn't like being alone with it, but the squirming mass in her chest was quieter without the noise of empty words. 

Pearl wasn't okay, she could admit that. She wasn't stupid. Everyone wished she was okay though. Which was- fine, it was fine, she understood. No one would want a gem who hardly talked, who could barely summon their weapon, hardly look anyone in the eye. But it was fine, she'd get better, probably. Maybe. She wasn't sure. She was - she was important, to say the least. There wasn't really a word that sprung to mind when talking about her. She didn't like talking about her. If she did, she knew he could talk endlessly. About how fascinated she was by even the smallest creature. About her obsession with flowers and the sea. About the fact that she just decided to change everything, because her Diamond – turned Rose Quartz - was so filled with passion that it spilled out of her, saturating the air and inspiring others to feel that same passion; she took that passion and did the impossible, she made a difference. Pearl could talk about her specific love of butterflies and that strange moss – Pearl imagined it was because Rose loved watching things become more than anyone could see or predict. About how her eyes looked like supernovae, how they lit up at discovery and beauty. About her gentle hands and gentle voice that made Pearl feel both vulnerable and strong. But Pearl didn't talk about her. Not to Garnet, or Amethyst, and definitely not Little Steven or Greg. She just didn't. 

Maybe she wasn't dealing with it all well. Maybe it was time to ask for help but the darkish hue that crowded her made seeking people hard. And the jaws around her neck made talking a challenge. She knew it would be better to talk but she wasn't sure she could. Rose always said (usually when comforting Amethyst) that it was important to just keep going and keep trying because even if you feel like you're walking a thin line, at least your walking but she wasn't certain she was. Because walking meant leaving it all behind and, call her a masochist (and many gems had), but even though it dug under her skin and made battles she thought she had left behind run in her veins and caused her form to feel like concaved and fallen city that collapsed around the spasming darkness in her chest, Pearl could not leave her behind. She tried to sleep a few times, counting fading echoes of forgotten peals of laughter. She envied Amethyst ability to sleep so easily. But it was okay. She was okay. It would all be okay. It was all grey. 

She was never graceful when she cried (thought she prided herself on being graceful in every other aspect), she wasn't outwardly calm or quiet; in the loneliness of the night she would let herself be wild and feral, caring not for what the shadows thought of her. Her face always paler than usual and unusually flushed from exertion all at once. Taking in enormous gulps of air around her cries, her chest heaved like it was carrying too many secret aches, maybe it was. Pearl would writhe as if in agony, her form desperately trying to reassure her that the ground was still real, the sand falling between her fingers was still real and she didn't have to float any more. Her limbs stretched and coiled, each muscle spasming with grief. But then the night would be over, and she would pull the sharpness back and open watery, red eyes that had lost their usual blue shine and now looked as grey as the morning fog that often came rolling over ocean. 

Pearl had experienced loss before (she had been in a war after all), she knew what it was, she knew how to recognise the stages of grief, she knew that her way of dealing was maladaptive and dysfunctional. This loss though? This one’s stab at the centre of her, a tear at the core, a rage at a heart that’s a bit absent, mostly vacant, that goes on because it doesn’t know where else to go. And that only exists as a place to hold her emotions. But it leaves her behind. It leaves her feeling all the more numb, all the more cold, all the more alone. 

The heart of a human adult weighs roughly two-hundred to four-hundred grams and Pearl thought dramatically, that maybe she has a real heart in her chest, and maybe something more; for it to seem like such a trial to simply raise up and make herself be, make herself do. She shook her head, as if she were dislodging the very thought of Rose from her skull. They stuck, like cobwebs. 

At first, when she hides – she wished she didn't have to hide all the damn time – she removes all the lights, covers her ears and drowns in the emptiness she created because sometimes sensory deprivation’s actually almost a relief with the way her form shakes, the haze over her pupils, a frost that makes any light scatter, psychedelic and confused. Her hands shake erratically, as if she's slowly losing control of her form and soon, she'll just be a passenger, watching from behind her own eyelids, from inside her gem, unable to act. 

Pink is what came before, and Steven is the inevitability, and they’re all tied up and twisted inside each other, like knots in her gut that are impossible to untie, or knots in her chest that contact and squeeze the air she doesn’t even need out, or knots in her gem that somehow bind her thoughts so even if she wanted to think of anything else, all she could see is her, all tangled until there’s no separating one from the next, until the now poisons the then. 

There was a time where it got better 

Until it stopped. 

Until it all just stopped and whatever colours she thought were seeping back, no matter how saturated, were sucked away. As if all she had seen was the final glimpse of the setting sun before it was gone, and she was left alone with the moon, and the stars. But she couldn't see the stars either, or the moon, for the fog seemed to have seeped out of her eyes, out of her head and into the world around her, taking the darkness that had already consumed her and magnifying it, somehow turning it from black to something darker, something without a word, or a meaning, something that simply is, or rather, isn't. 

Sometimes, memories are good, sometimes they make smiles awkwardly stretch on her face – comfortable, even though they feel strange and foreign – and the occasional tear slip down her face. Sometimes she can wrap herself in the memories and lie on the sand and absorb it all. Pearl could close her eyes and pretend she was there, that she was laughing and playing in the waves, using her shield to scoop up the water and then throw it, disappearing her shield and watching the water fall, catching and holding sunlight, and land backing into the sea. She would sit with those memories until they turned sour, leaving the taste of turpentine in her throat, until the tears escape again, those tears that hunt her, that he can't escape no matter how she tries. They leave stains on her cheeks. 

She got angry some days too, angry at her for leaving, angry at her because sometimes she was just too arrogant, believing herself to be the only one with the authority or the tactical knowledge to plan, rather than listening to the advice of others. Pearl was no leader, but she knew that, at the very least, she understood fighting and how to plan and strategise. She never used to mind all that much; she used to smile and nod and go along with Rose’s plan and it was worth it – she was good at what she did. Now though? Now she's angry – she just gets so angry sometimes, she doesn't know why. Now she's angry – she just can't help herself sometimes. Now she's angry – she just had to break something, to finally have control back, to finally hear something over the waves in her ears and to finally have something be destroyed of her own volition, no one else's, she just needs to break things sometimes. Pearl gets angry because she wants to remember Roes as perfect, wants to remember sunshine spilling from every pore in her body but she can't. She can't. Every time she thinks about her kind voice, she is remined of their screaming arguments; every time she thinks of her incredible compassion, he'd be remined of her obliviousness, how she somehow didn't notice, or didn’t care how much Pearl loved her, and she did love her, Rose was everything to hew - maybe one day she’ll realise how unhealthy that was, but that day won’t come soon. 

When she's not sad, not angry, she's usually just tired. She doesn’t sleep but she’ll lie in her room for days, completely still, too exhausted to be angry, eyes to dry to cry and mind too tired to move a thought. So she just lies there, It's easier that way. Just... easier. Easier to lock herself in the oblivion of the dark quiet. Well, that's how she saw it. The darkness was nice, it wasn't a constricting darkness, it didn't weave around her and strip her of the unneeded air, it just rested around her, like a comforting blanket. 

But it was fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She'd be fine. She had to be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> So clearly I really like writing about Pearl - she's just one of my favourite characters. I know this doesn't really have a narrative of sorts, but obviously Pearl grieved for Rose and we only see parts of it in the show so I wrote this! 
> 
> Also please let me know about any errors, I never notice them.


End file.
